Muse |
Muse |
The virus is a vicious red Bleeding into the head Harrowing words With COVID curves, Flickering on a social media thread Sewing together an altogether Monstrous end That's loose and unpredictable: You never know to where it might unravel. Who cares: Who lives or dies, Whose eyes may rise With the sun, Whose body's done, Whose journey's lost and won. Mounting figures fall on death ears As they ascend the y axis of R. Any figure is to blame, Who has a name, And wears the trousers of office, Pinned by the press As another "misspoken" term, A rule malleable and as changing As the mood swings Under the push of a parent Where school children still play, Bubbled beyond belief: Was anything ever different? And what of those silent souls, The ones that don't get to grow old, Their bodies torn Within Within the folds of their skin? As their blood runs cold, A vicious red Bites the dust, The fading hue Of a COVID long gone, But that left a suicide note For the body left behind, Stolen in the night, With no more breath to find. The lungs crackle and fracture; A guttural expression of laughter Leaving a friendly face That never got to place A hand on a loved one's arm Before the room grew dark. A friend, a foe, someone you don't know. It's all the same. The vicious red doesn't choose, It doesn't feel, But it is real. Yet the blind ear and the deaf eye Cry about life And having to abstain For one more day, Whilst breathing gluttonously on. The privileged are not patient. The vicious red spreads, Making no distinction. Who is next? You'd better keep your head. Photo by Joel Filipe on Unsplash Originally written October 2020, age 24
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AuthorSamantha is a doctoral researcher researching the power of figurative language in advertising, social media, and mobile technology. Copyright © 2022
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